Beacon's Guiding Light
by Scarlett Red Rose
Summary: What if Veronica Beaconsfeild had been killed instead of injured? A look into what might have been. Completed (for real this time).
1. Prologue

August 2004

My Fellow Sherlock Holmes Fans,

Although this could be considered an "author's note" and such a thing is not allowed here it is not that in its entirety. It is a note of thanks, a letter of congratulations, a confession, the pouring out of one fan's soul to…many fans.

Try though I might, writing stories is not my forte. Now poetry yes, I can write that and it comes out considerably better. But I was asked to write a story and so forth came the beast. It had a name, _Going After The Detective_, and was about Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson' adventure of saving Holmes from Mrs. Hudson's old husband (Holmes, by the way, had conveniently ditched the three of them by wandering off to the Sussex at the time). It is one of the works I am most ashamed of. Perhaps one day I will have the courage to fix it but, for now, it remains locked in it's cage of horror.

Though many loved it I did not feel as comfortable with it as I did with my former poems. After I had finished the story I had come to a decision: leave Sherlock Holmes to the experts. So that's just what I did, I restricted myself only to reviewing other's work.

But what work it was! Never have I seen such an outpouring of love and admiration for characters! I browse many of the other sections here but the feeling in this section cannot be duplicated elsewhere. The work is (forgive the understatement) incredible!

So I became the local "Peeping Tom", observing others but forsaking my own work. In fact, the wealth of poetic inspiration (sorry Holmes) came out into others genres but was entirely disappointed that it did not come out where it was supposed to. I played with several ideas but time after time they found there way to my shredder, my personal coffin of dead ideas.

Until recently. I was, once again, typing dying ideas into the hospital of blank paper when I received an email by someone I did not recognize. I will not reveal the name or the address from whence it came but suffice it to say that I was utterly shocked by it's by its contents. Here is what I read:

_Dear Miss Rose,_

_ It has come to my attention that when all hope is gone for reaching out to the world one must turn to another to do the reaching for one. I can no longer reach the world and so I send this to you._

_Best of luck with it,_

_Dr. John H. Watson_

My first thought was that it had to be a practical joker, some scammer. Why, the facts didn't match up to what happened to Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell! But the more I read it, the more I wondered about it. Whom did it really come from, why wouldn't they publish it themselves, and, above all, why send it to me? So I puzzled and mulled over it until I came to my conclusion: _give it over to the experts_. Play Dorothy Ruskin and give it to someone who can (hopefully) appreciate it.

So that is what I am doing. I cannot term it as actual fact but nor can I term it as fiction. There is no evidence to say either. I leave it up to you, dear writers, to make what you will of it. And, yes, I am aware something of this sort happened to a Ms. Laurie R. King. But if Mary Russell had to send her writings practically across the world to be published, well then, why couldn't Watson?

As Holmes would say, "The game is afoot!"

Most sincerely yours,

Scarlett Red Rose


	2. I Can

Beacon's Guiding Light

I outlived them. It seems strange to say that now, even though it is true. To outlive the suicides of both Sherlock Holmes and Mary Russell has been no small accomplishment. Dealing with their deaths is a far greater task.

When the trunk was delivered to me that day so many years ago I thought it merely an odd present from Mary, never would I have expected it to contain the few odd assorted things she kept after Holmes' death.

And there at the bottom was the letter.

It looked like any other letter save that the ink was red and the hand was that of the dearest companion a man ever knew, Sherlock Holmes.

I opened the envelope and scanned its contents before throwing it back into the trunk, allowing neither trunk nor letter to be opened again.

Not until now.

The years grow short and I find myself faced with the fact that I will see Holmes and Mary again. It is because of this fact that I found myself, trembling, in front of Mary's trunk earlier this morning. I opened it and looked in. There was no ghost there to grab my throat, no immediate horrors deemed to kill me. There was no haunting here, save the wanderings of two souls in the agony of wondering (deducing, perhaps?) what had happened to the other.

With as much force as I could pull out of the air I pummeled myself backward into history and opened Holmes' letter once more…

_My Dear Russell,_

_As I sit and write this I wonder which will reach you first, this letter or the front page of the newspaper. The news will travel swiftly and soon the world will be rid of the great fool, Sherlock Holmes._

_If I may, I would like to relate to you the events of these past couple of weeks as I have seen them._

_It began that Thursday, the 13th of January, when Veronica Beaconsfield was so ruthlessly murdered. You told me yourself later that you should have seen and prevented this act. I then told you, as I told you several years before that the murder was your fault in part. You then, to my surprise, stormed out of my cottage without even a good bye to Mrs. Hudson. I tracked you down while playing beggar in London and learned that you had fled to one of my own bolt-holes! Why you went there to escape me I will never know. I then proceeded to do the stupidest thing I have ever done._

_I let you go._

_You drove me away after that, turning away whenever I would come near you, taking long vacations, never responding to my pleas to set things right between us again. I tried, Russell, truly I did but you flew away from me like a dove: beautiful and hopeless to catch._

_I doubt you can imagine or even guess what type of agony I went through during this period. My soul is cut off from its counterpart, my heart _(here the writing is crossed out several times)_ is_ _ripped in two. My longing, my _(the same word is crossed out at least three times)_ love for you can now never be fulfilled._

_I wish you the very best in the years to come and, please, remember me to be_

_Very Sincerely Yours,_

[signed] _Sherlock Holmes_

On some instinct I flipped the page over only to find in thin writing that trailed down the page:

_I can, Holmes. I can…_


	3. More To Follow

My Fellow Sherlock Holmes Fans,

If someone could give me something to block me from all the vegetables that are sure to be flung following this statement, I would be most appreciative.

As you have more than likely deduced by now this is another "author's note" but it is no less crucial to the continuation of this story as the first.

Yes, you read that right, _continuation_.

Once again I was playing "Peeping Tom" when I was alerted to an email from, you guessed it, Watson. This time there was no salutation but the cryptic message still remained:

More to follow. –JHW 

_More_? There's _more_? Unfortunately for all of us, Watson neglected to add the _more_ part. Maybe he's waiting to see how the public views the first part. Maybe he's having a hard time giving up his last private link with Holmes and Mary. Or maybe he just enjoys being a master of suspense.

"More to follow."

As Ms. King so nicely put it: "I certainly hope so."

Most sincerely yours,

Scarlett Red Rose


End file.
